The Art of Death and Dying
by Nightmares.And.Dreamers
Summary: Elena Gilbert has known the Salvatore Brothers since birth. They live just across the street. But when her brother dies suddenly everything changes. Suddenly they aren't just the boys next door and Elena fumbles into a love triangle to rival that of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Will she choose her rock when she lost her brother or the one who made her feel alive again?


_Prologue: "Change"_

I grew up across the street from the mysterious Salvatore brothers, Damon and Stefan. They lived with their uncle. Their mom died while giving birth to Stefan, he's my age. Their dad killed himself a few weeks later. We never talk about it. I'd known them my whole life. My dad delivered them both and my mom was a close friend of their mother's before she passed, God rest her soul. Naturally we fell into the same crowd more or less. More accurately, we had mutual friends and often found ourselves at similar parties and events. They were two of my closest a friends. Like the close friends no one knew I had. We liked to keep it that way.

When we were younger it was awkward. We all thought the other had cooties, but when it was just us it was this magical time floating in space where we didn't have to pretend so much. Mom always thought I'd marry one of them some day. She thinks their mom would've liked that. I think setting your daughter up for that kind of love triangle drama is a form of child abuse.

As we got older, our time together withered. We made different friends and became busy with our separate lives. Save for a few late night talks in my backyard tree house and the occasional chat at a party, we were strangers. I knew I could count on them for the big things. I like to think we just knew each other in another life, but that was about to change.

_Chapter 1: "Not 'Just Friends'"_

It was 2 am, maybe half-past, on a warm Sunday morning when I woke to a shuffling and then loud wailing downstairs. Still groggy, wiping sleep from my eyes, I wrapped my robe around my slender body and slowly walked downstairs. I could see my mother clinging to my father, her face tear stricken. My father was stone cold, emotionless. There was a cop in our doorway.

_Where was Jeremy? _Surely this commotion would cause his hormonal ass to come out and complain. I poked my head inside his room only to see his mess undisturbed from this morning. I felt a knot form in my throat. Everything from then on was in slow motion; making my way down the stairs, the police officer telling me Jeremy got behind the wheel drunk, my mom sobbing that her baby boy was gone...

The next few days were a blur. I know Damon and Stefan were over everyday. Their uncle helped around the house while my mother grieved. They checked on me every mealtime and tried to distract me with tales from school. Caroline and Bonnie, my best friends, stopped by every couple days to make sure I had everything I needed. Bonnie made me tea while Caroline did my make up, in true Caroline form.

"You might be grieving, but you'll do it in style if it's the last thing I do," she'd insist.

Matt, my boyfriend, didn't know _what_ to do. When he visited he was distant and awkward. He'd just kind of sit near me while we binged on _Breaking Bad_ (for him) and _Grey's Anatomy_ (for me). Every few episodes he'd ask how I was doing. I'd usually just mumble I was fine. Sometimes I'd ask for water just to get him out of the room for a few minutes. I couldn't stand the unhelpful suffocation his presence provided. Finally I just told him I needed space and I think he was relieved that I was the one to say it.

A few minutes after Matt left for good there was a knock on my door. I lifted my tear-stricken face to see Stefan leaning effortlessly against my doorframe. He pushed himself up and walked over with this smooth swagger that came naturally to both him and his brother. It could make any girl swoon, but then again, I've seen him nerding out over _Dungeons and Dragons _so the illusion was a little lost on me.

"How you holding up?" he said with sympathy in his eyes and concern in his voice.

I sat up in my pile of sheets and tissues, wiping the tears away. He placed his hand on my knee in silent solidarity. It took me a few moments to get up the courage to look him in the eye. I didn't want to cry anymore and I knew his support would make me do just that.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, without really looking at me.

I shook my head, trying desperately not to cry in front of him. He nodded in acceptance and got up to give me space. I jerked up when I felt his weight leave the mattress and reached out in time to grab his hand. He turned at the tug of my hand on his.

"Stay?" I asked, partly scared of the response I may get, but I had nothing to worry about.

"Of course," he said, sliding into bed next to me.

I curled into his chest and silently cried while he held me tight. We stayed like that until morning. When I woke I was sprawled across his chest, his arm curled around my back. Instinctively I pull him tighter, not even thinking about it. It makes him stir and I am suddenly very self-conscious of our compromising position. I wouldn't want to hear the teasing from Damon if he found us like this.

"Elena?" Stefan groggily whispered.

"Uhm, yes?" I answered, very uncomfortable with my ease in laying across his muscular body.

There was an uncomfortable silence because even though we both knew something needed to be said, neither he nor I could figure out what exactly _should_ be said. After a beat I sat up and scooted away from him. I was suddenly very aware of the pajama shorts and tank top (sans bra) I was wearing. I pulled my throw up over my small frame. Stefan seemed to be acutely aware of why I was covering up and awkwardly shuffled off my bed.

"So… I'll, uh, see you later I guess," he stuttered.

"Yeah… later…" I responded lamely.

Once Stefan had left, I let out a sigh. I slipped out of bed and walked over to the mirror. The makeup Caroline had applied yesterday morning was gone, either wiped away with tears or sleep. Mt tank was wrinkled and stretched from the writhing that came with restless sleep. The top was dangerously close to exposing my breasts and my nipples were hard and protruding.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ache between my thighs. I was sad and grieving and needed attention. Stefan had been there. That was the end of it. _I don't have feelings for him_, I tried to rationalize to myself.

_I don't._

_I don't._

_I don't_.

But I did. And now nothing would be the same.


End file.
